


Day of Beginnings and Endings - Hashirama

by Canislupusarctos



Series: Day of Beginnings and Endings [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Founding of Konoha, HashiMada BigBang 2018, Hashirama-centric, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I’ll Add More Tags if I Think of Them, M/M, Senju Clan - Freeform, Temporary Character Death, Uchiha Clan - Freeform, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 08:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16384961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canislupusarctos/pseuds/Canislupusarctos
Summary: I have a headcanon that Madara “died” the first time on Hashirama’s birthday.  And the two prompts for this year’s Big Bang week one were Hashirama’s birthday and Madara’s death day, plus I was going to do a drawing and switched it up last second, so this happened, I guess.





	Day of Beginnings and Endings - Hashirama

The 23rd of October.  A seemingly unimportant day.  But it was actually the day two very important events occurred.  One, it was the day Hashirama was born. Two, it was the day Madara had died.  Hashirama thought the second event was far more important. The day of birth wasn’t nearly as important in his eyes as everyone else made it out to be.  It was because of this death that Hashirama was sitting on the destroyed ground of Shuumatsu no Tani in the rain, on his birthday, instead of celebrating it.  He knew, back in Konoha, the only person who knew his birthday was Tobirama. He’d always been more secretive than people gave him credit for. Additionally, he knew that they would be celebrating the death of the very same person Hashirama was mourning.  How ungrateful. Without Madara, there wouldn’t be a Konoha, and Hashirama wouldn’t even have grown into who he was now. Among the Uchiha, Madara had saved most of their lives at some point or other. Without him, Hashirama also likely wouldn’t have been strong enough to go as far as he did.

 

Memories flashed behind Hashirama’s closed eyes.  A boy, strangely familiar at the time, for a reason Hashirama would never know, stood with his back to the trees.  He skipped a stone, throwing it the way one might throw a perfectly aimed shuriken. No doubt, this boy was battle-trained, not trained in stone skipping.  The stone sank, not making it across the river. There was obvious frustration. Hashirama remembered pushing down his hesitation, putting on the smile he always wore around people, and gathering the courage to step out of the trees to slip a stone of his own all the way across the river.  How they were like those stones. Madara’s life, cut short, Hashirama’s, prolonged, unable to end even if he wanted it to, like a stone stranded on the bank.

 

Then, Hashirama stood behind Madara to test the latter‘s words.  They were true indeed, and not as lighthearted as they sounded. Madara had gotten “angry” for dramatic effect, and, at the time, Hashirama hadn’t seen what lay beneath.  But now, he knew Madara didn’t like when people stood behind him on a much deeper level than for relieving himself. If only he’d known before. That time, by the river, after some pursuit, both of them had fallen into the river, in effect because Madara didn’t like when people stood behind him.  They’d been fine, neither of them nearly drowned. But this time, it was a metaphorical river, or even an ocean, filled with roaring waves and rough currents, which Madara’s aversion to people standing behind him in the figurative sense and Hashirama’s own ignorance had caused them to fall into.

 

This time, however, they did not swim to shore and climb out, shaking the water from their hair and clothes.  This time, they had both begun to drown in it, and Madara had been too broken, too defeated, to fight it, only going out with a last blaze of glory once it became clear there was no escape from this inevitable fate.  Hashirama had still possessed the will and pride to fight it, and try to save Madara from it too, but in the end, it had been too much. Even now, he was slowly drowning in it all, the figurative water seeping into his lungs as he struggled to stay afloat, caring and trying less and less with every passing day.  Despite the fact that he had a village, a brother, a cousin, a child, a grandchild, and one close friend to look after still, on this day every year, the day of his own birth and Madara’s death, he let himself sink beneath the surface, hearing nothing but the blissful calm of quiet as the world began to go dark. Every time, he came back to reality, forcing himself back up, back to the real world, head just barely above the hungry water, just clinging to sanity.

 

There had also been the time Hashirama thought he might know what it felt like to be an Uchiha, if only for a moment.  He and Madara had just sworn to protect their brothers at all costs. “I’ll never forgive anyone who tries to hurt my little brother, no matter who they are!”

 

“Same here!”

 

Distant air returning, Madara said, more quietly, “Hey Hashirama.”

 

“What is it?”

 

Solemnly, Madara delivered the words that would show how he’d been defeated and broken in so many ways, “Maybe it just isn’t possible to reach that pipe dream of ours.  It may have been brief, but it was fun, Hashirama.”

 

Butsuma and Tajima had been prepared for another go, as had Tobirama and Izuna, everyone present was sure of that.  It was only when Tajima had asked Madara if he thought they could beat the three Senju, and Madara had looked Hashirama in the eye from across the river, lying through his teeth and swallowing his pride, “No, Hashirama’s stronger than me.”

 

Both boys knew very well they were equals, but their families didn’t.  It had only been a matter of who would tell that lie first. Madara had seen the chance to avoid a conflict, and taken it.  How different things might’ve been had it been the other way around. Those words had ended up becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Madara had always been shafted in favour of Hashirama almost since then. The Senju, the favoured clan, the Uchiha, cast in shadow. The Senju and Hashirama, credited with the founding of Konoha, the Uchiha and Madara, pushed to the fringes despite being just as important.  If Hashirama had said it first, would things have turned out okay? Or would things be exactly the opposite, him dead, and Madara at Shuumatsu no Tani, mourning, with a brother back in Konoha celebrating his death with the rest of the village, and Tobirama long dead?

 

Back in the past, Izuna had exclaimed in shock, ignorant of his brother’s lie, “There’s a kid stronger than you, aniki?!”

 

Madara’s gaze drifted away from Hashirama, as if the sight of him was too much to bear.  He turned and began to walk away. Hashirama called after him, “Madara! You haven’t really given up, have you?  You’ve gotten to the same point!”

 

Turning back around to face Hashirama, and stopping in his tracks, Madara’s gaze no longer wavered.  It was like a wolf’s, dominant, hard, and commanding. It showed no trace of the brokenness and defeat Hashirama knew was beneath the surface.  “You are Senju. I truly wish it wasn’t so. My brothers were killed by the Senju, and your brothers, by the Uchiha. So there’s no need to show what’s inside of us to each other.  Our next meeting will likely be on the battlefield, Hashirama Senju.”

 

Madara turned away again, quickly this time, as if in agony or to hide something.  He wasn’t quick enough, and Hashirama caught a glimpse of red eyes with a strange, swirled black pattern like none he’d ever seen before.  What could it have been?

 

He got his answer a few moments later.  “Father! Look at aniki’s eyes!”

 

Tajima smirked cruelly, and Hashirama knew Madara would get no sympathy or even pity from his father.  “We may not have obtained any intel on the Senju, but it seems we obtained something valuable after all.  The Mangekyou Sharingan is a rare thing indeed, for one so young. And to think he would get it from friendship with a Senju.”

 

The Mangekyou?  It was a powerful eye indeed.  Hashirama had heard it was only unlocked with the greatest emotional suffering.  Ordinarily, one could only obtain it with the death of the one closest to their heart.  But, in a way, this separation was death. Madara’s friend had died, and so had Hashirama’s, leaving only two young heirs, servants of their clans, bound by their younger brothers, who did not see the dream of peace they had been forced to abandon.  In that moment, Hashirama felt like he knew how it felt to awaken the Mangekyou. After all, he must have been feeling the exact same way as Madara, who had awakened it.

 

Those were the early days, before all hope had been lost.  Sometimes, if he could forget about what happened in the end, Hashirama could even think of their separation without grief.  After all, it hadn’t been permanent, and they’d still achieved their dream. Only, it didn’t seem so dreamlike for long. More memories flashed.

 

Madara, holding his seriously injured brother, taking a tentative step forward, towards Hashirama’s outstretched hand.  Izuna, with the last of his strength, effectively sealing his own fate and that of entire clan, unknowingly. Madara had stopped, not taken Hashirama’s hand, thrown a smoke bomb, and disappeared.

 

The next time he appeared, he had eyes of a kind that had never been seen before.  The Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan. Izuna had died, leaving Madara his eyes. The worst part was that Hashirama knew he could’ve healed Izuna.  They could’ve had an alliance. But Madara, in his grief-clouded state, had once again refused a peace offering because of Izuna, and had fought with Hashirama until he simply didn’t have the mental strength to get back up off the ground and continue.

 

There had been times when they both basked in the results of their childhood dream and years of effort and suffering.  Konoha loved them both, for a time. But Madara never got over what happened, no one did, but the village picked his clan, and especially him, as scapegoats for their troubles.  Hashirama hadn’t paid enough attention, hadn’t seen that Madara was returning to that dark place he’d been in after they were forcibly separated, and after Izuna died. By the time he had, he knew it was too late.  Madara was too far gone, but it didn’t stop him from trying. He would’ve gotten dragged down into the darkness at some point either way. So when Madara left, it had been heartbreaking, and Hashirama felt like a young child again, this time too scared to come out from among the trees, watching the other walk away into the distance.

 

Lastly, there was the most painful moment.  Hashirama ran his sword through Madara from behind.  He hadn’t even meant to do so. Something inside him had snapped, and he’d missed the non-vital spot he’d been aiming for.  It was only a split-second mistake, but it was enough to ruin any chance at reconciliation. Hashirama didn’t have enough chakra left to heal so much as a scratch.  It had taken all he had to take down Madara. Blood dripped from Madara’s body onto the ground, mixing with rain and tears. Some of it ran down Hashirama’s sword, soaking his hands in the blood of his dearest person.  

 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.  You were supposed to fight back to back or side by side with your dearest person, and soak your sword and hands in the blood of those who would come between the world and peace, or you and your loved ones.  You weren’t supposed to have that blood be that of one of your loved ones, particularly not that of the one closest to your heart, with no one at your back or by your side, to be your own archnemesis. He could still feel that blood on his hands now, his being forever stained by it, wherever it touched.  It had been years, yet it still felt as if there was fresh blood on the ground and on Hashirama’s own skin. The worst part had been when Madara finally collapsed to the ground after Hashirama had pulled his sword out. Blood had gotten on his face, something the world would see even after his death. How could he ever again face someone with that mark on him?

 

Madara had whispered, “I love you,” so quietly it might as well have been the rain.  It was something he had said before, something that hadn’t been painful since they had founded Konoha together, up until the Senju and Uzumaki elders had forced Mito and Hashirama into marriage.  It was only more painful at that moment than it had ever been.

 

Hashirama had echoed those words, just as much quiet conviction behind them as ever, only far less audibly forceful.  But the wind and rain had snatched his voice away, so he did what he could to express what he felt but could not say. For the first time since the elders had caught him and Madara and Mito and Touka disregarding the marriage none of them had wanted in the first place, Hashirama leaned down and kissed Madara.  But Madara would never know, because he died before Hashirama could do so.

 

Back in the present, where tears mixed with rain, Hashirama opened his eyes, staring blankly up at the grey sky.  Standing and shakily making his way to the statue of Madara that had been constructed across the waterfall from his own statue, Hashirama put his back to the stone at the base of the monstrous statue, staring up at the impressive visages of the statues, not really paying much attention to his own.  He stayed there so long, he ended up slumping to ground, passed out after a long vigil in the rain. Eventually, Tobirama would come find him, as he did every year, bring him back to Konoha, and stand in for him when he inevitably fell ill, which lasted longer and longer every year, as the despair, apathy, and grief set in ever more deeply.  It was only a matter of time until Hashirama reached his breaking point, and everyone close to him knew that, though the public was completely ignorant.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Madara awakened his sharingan due to separation from Hashirama, but it really bothered me that there was no other plausible way for him to actually get the Mangekyou, and it also seemed to me that having three brothers murdered should be enough to awaken the normal sharingan.


End file.
